We die on the march
by Ocean of Ashes
Summary: Alex finds himself fighting a battle he doesn't know how to win, with help from a doctor who is a few steps further down the same path but with a formidable set of demons of his own. Grey's/ER crossover.
1. Times they are a changin

Author's Note: Okay, okay, I know I really shouldn't start another story with both 'Back to the Beginning' and 'Be careful what you wish for' still very much on the go, but no-one's going to find this story stuck in the crossovers section without a map and compass so I'm going to need their author's notes for publicity. (20.08.09 - as you may have noticed, this story has migrated from the crossovers page to here, as I wasn't getting any hits, which I had persuaded myself - probably erroneously - was due to the fact no-one could find it.)

In the interest of keeping things simple, I'm going to assume you, my wise and lovely readers, have a basic knowledge of both ER and Grey's Anatomy, although I'm sure there are plenty of you who only watch one or the other. Rather than entering into lengthy explanations here, if anyone wants any points clearing up – an idea of characters, backstories, anything like that, PM me with any questions and I'll be happy to help. To give you a picture of the starting point, we're kicking off in ER terms at the start of Season 15 and with Grey's Anatomy, at the time of Addison's visit in Season 5, but expect Grey's to veer off into AU somewhat.

With reference to the title (yes, a bit bleak, I know), the full quotation is '_We shed as we pick up, like travellers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march. But there is nothing outside the march so nothing can be lost to it._' It's from the utterly, utterly brilliant play 'Arcadia' by Tom Stoppard, and I've chosen it as it shares one of its principle themes – the chaos theory – with ER. Incidentally, my pen name, 'Ocean of Ashes', is also a quote from Arcadia.

Disclaimer: Let's see, this could be a long one. In relation to ER, it belongs to Wells, Crichton, et al; Grey's is all Shonda, and Tom Stoppard gets the credit for the title. The chapter title, 'The times, they are a-changing' is a song title courtesy of Bob Dylan, and as ER fans will know, was played in Episode 15.01 after Greg's funeral.

Right, my sincerest apologies for all that, but I think that's the explanations done for the moment. Please let me know what you think. I welcome all speculation, questions and theories. Off we go…

We die on the march

Ray shifted in the bed restlessly, trying to ignore the itching under his dressings. _Itching is good, itching means healing_, he reminded himself. _Damn annoying though. _He'd lost count of exactly what number operation this last one for the skin grafts had been (okay, that was a lie – it was the eleventh) but he had to keep telling himself that it was all a means to an end. The faster he healed, the faster he could be back onto his prosthetics and working on his rehab, and so the faster his life could get back to some sort of normality again.

Some days, he had to tell himself more insistently than others. The bad days, the really bleak black ones, like the ones just after the accident, were fewer and further between now, but he still had to be careful not to let himself fall into the murky depths of depression. It was a constant effort, and some days cost him more than others.

Today was one of those days where it cost the most. He glanced briefly at the clock on the wall. A quarter to two. In Chicago, they would all be filing into the chapel for the funeral around now.

It was five days since Abby had called him to tell him about Greg's death. She had sounded kind of in shock as she'd relayed the news of the ambulance explosion, as if it hadn't sunk in yet. Well, he couldn't blame her for that. He couldn't believe that Pratt, a colleague, a friend, a living breathing person, was now gone. It was different somehow, when it was someone you knew. Different than losing a patient.

It was _so _much worse.

He sighed. Dead. It was so final. There was no way back from that. And it had so, so nearly been him.

It was a year, near as damn it, since that night. The wedding, and standing there in the half dark, stroking Neela's soft skin and hearing her say that the past didn't matter, feeling like maybe they had a chance. Then there was a blur of whiskey, and the fight, and Pratt slinging him out. More whiskey, and then bright lights and the roar of the truck in his ears and… Well, it might not have been death, but it was certainly the end of his life as he had known it.

It was the last time he'd seen Pratt. And apart from that awful, bitter goodbye with Neela, it had been the last time he'd seen any of them.

He knew now though, with an absolute certainty that he hadn't possessed until Abby's shellshocked tones had broken the tragic news to him, that he wanted to see them all again. Not to try to get his old life back – that was shattered and broken beyond repair, just as his legs had been – but to get his friends back.

_To get Neela back. _

There was a knock on the door, and a head popped tentatively around it.

'Hey Ray.'

'Gemma. Come on in.'

Gemma was the receptionist in the Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation Department here at the LeChatlier Clinic in Baton Rouge. It had been where Ray had first stayed when his mother had brought him back here from Chicago and where he had reached his very lowest point. And after that, it was also where he had begun to build himself back up again.

Now, as well as still being a patient (he was currently in for some skin graft work on his stumps) he was working there as well. He'd changed his specialty to P M and R; he'd been doing it for nearly six months now and absolutely loved it.

'So, how are you feeling?' she asked.

He hadn't told any of his colleagues about Greg's death, only his mum and his shrink. He was improving, slowly, at the whole not bottling stuff up thing, but he couldn't bear the sympathy that he knew he would see on people's faces if they knew he'd lost a friend. _Poor old Ray, even Job got a break in the end. _

He hadn't given them the chance for any of that.

'Not too bad,' he replied, trying to sound suitably jolly. 'Itchy.'

'Itchy is good, itchy means –'

'It's healing,' he cut across her. 'Yeah, yeah, I know, but it's driving me crazy. Anyway, how's things at work? Any new patients in?'

She ran through a couple of new cases that had come in, and brought him up to speed on their ongoing patients. She had a couple of charts with her, knowing that Ray liked to keep his mind busy when he was hospitalised himself, and sat back while he perused them.

'Oh, and there were a couple of calls for you. I said I'd pass the messages on.'

'Anyone interesting?'

'The VA. Sounds like they're going to turn down your proposal to double the number of military personnel we take in on contract.'

'Damn,' Ray swore. He liked working with soldiers, seeing them work to use their damaged bodies again was the most satisfying part of his job, and their discipline and determination was truly inspiring. When he'd first started, he wasn't entirely sure about it, but he quickly realised he was being unfair. He couldn't resent _all _soldiers simply because of Gallant. And he couldn't resent Gallant, not really. The guy was dead after all – at least Ray had hope.

'And a Doctor Torres, from Seattle,' Gemma continued.

'Doctor Torres. Should I know him?'

'Her. She's an orthopaedic surgeon at Seattle Grace. She's read your paper on depression in young male amputees and wanted to discuss a case with you. I've got her number with me. Do you want to give her a call?'

'Um, yeah, I think I will. Thanks. And tell the VA to stop being bureaucratic assholes and let me have more patients. We can give them a much more holistic treatment here.'

Gemma passed him the number and got up to leave. 'I might phrase it a little differently. I'll come and see you again when my shift ends.'

'Great, see you later. By the way, any chance you could sneak me in a couple of beers and a decent meal? I'm bored out of my mind of hospital food and weak tea.'

'Is that a good idea? Won't it affect…?'

'My meds?' Ray gave a wry chuckle. 'No pain meds for me remember? I'm just on a few antibiotics to prevent infection. One bottle of beer will be okay.'

'Oh, yeah, um, of course. Sorry, I,' Gemma stumbled, flustered by her error. 'Well, see you later.'

He had a telephone on the table next to his bed (private room – one of the perks of being on the staff) and dialled the number scrawled on the piece of paper Gemma had given him.

'Hello, is Doctor Torres there please?'

'Uh, yeah, she is. Who's calling?'

'Doctor Barnett. LeChatlier Clinic, returning her call.'

'Hang on a minute.'

In the background, he heard the voice he had been talking to call, _Callie, phone_, and then a voice, entirely younger and, well, sexier, than he had been expecting, say 'Hi, Callie Torres. Is that Ray Barnett?'

'Um, yeah,' he replied, slightly on the back foot.

'Great, thanks so much for getting back to me. I've read your paper, and thought it was brilliant. You see, I've got a patient, well, not just a patient, he's a friend of mine, and…'

Her voice became more serious, and Ray sensed what she was trying to get out. 'I'm assuming there's a degree of similarity between your friend and the case that was examined in the paper?' he helped her out.

'Yes. And, well, I know you're only a resident, but you seemed to really know what you were talking about. The way you wrote, it was clear that you just completely understood exactly what was going through your patient's mind and what treatments did and didn't help.'

Ray smiled. 'Well, I kind of had inside knowledge on that one.'

He could hear the confusion in her voice. 'What do you mean?'

'Patient X was me.'

'What?' She sounded totally taken aback.

'A study of depression in young male amputees,' he quoted the title of the paper. 'Double below-knee amputation, a year ago. So really, it wasn't as insightful as you think. Though it's very nice of you to say.'

'I had no idea.'

'No way you could have. Anyway, back to your patient. Is there anything specific you wanted to ask me about? I'd be more than happy to help in any way I can.'

'Yes, there is something I wanted to ask. The patient I have is a friend, he's a doctor at this hospital. We don't have a very sophisticated P M and R programme here at Seattle Grace and right now, we desperately need one. I read your paper while I was doing some research for this case and put your name forward to the hospital's Board immediately. We'd like to offer you a job here, heading up a specialised P M and R unit. I'm an ortho attending and the idea is sort of my baby so I'll be overseeing, but essentially it's your own department, to do as you want.'

Ray stared at the phone in his hand in dumb shock. Did he just hear her right? His own department? At Seattle Grace?

'Pardon?' he said, as politely as possible.

'A job. Please. We need your help. _He _needs your help.'

He thought about it. Physically, he was just about ready. This skin graft operation was likely to be the last one he'd need in a while, and he'd soon be back on his carbon fibre feet again. And Baton Rouge and his mother were beginning to drive him crazy. He'd left at eighteen, the minute he could, for a reason and the circumstances that had brought him back weren't exactly happy ones. Besides, his own department.

'Yes. I'll help, I mean, I'll accept the job.'

'You will?'

'Yes.'

_If your time to you  
__Is worth savin'  
__Then you better start swimmin'  
__Or you'll sink like a stone.  
__For times they are a-changin'. _


	2. All I can see

Author's Note: For some reason, the Emerald City bar seems to have established itself as one of my favourite places for Addison and Alex interaction – not only does it appear below, but also in _A million tides, _and _twice _thus far in _Be careful what you wish for. _I think I need to mix it up a bit, but this is how I see the scene, so this is how the story goes I'm afraid. On the subject of this chapter, if you are a regular reader of mine, you will probably be aware that I have only seen up 'til the end of Season Three of Grey's and am therefore sketchy on what occurs thereafter. I have tried to catch up on what I need through the medium of youtube, but if you feel the need to correct my version of events, then please don't be shy about it. One other thing worth mentioning, in this story, Izzie doesn't have cancer. Sorry, but I can only deal with so many plotlines at once! And thank you for the reviews of the first chapter, it was a bit of a one for the ER readers, so this is one for the Grey's fans.

Disclaimer: As before, with particular reference to the Grey's/PP crossover arc. The song this time is Snow Patrol's _Chasing Cars _and obviously I don't own that either.

'_It's her guy._'

His words were echoing in her ears over and over again. She could still feel the heat of his body against hers as he stood half in front of her, blocking her path. Everything she had ever felt about Karev had come flooding back. He still could read her thoughts, and make her go weak at the knees with one look. And he was still the best intern – no, resident now – that she had ever worked with.

This visit to Seattle had been so goddamned hard. First there was everything with her brother, which had left her emotionally drained – she'd even tried praying for Christ's sake.

And Derek. _Derek. _Saving her brother. Begging for her help. Driving her crazy. _Noticing her. _All she'd ever wanted, really, was for Derek to notice her. She'd never have slept with Mark if she hadn't been trying to get Derek to notice her. Well, probably not.

It was just _so _like the old days, the New York days. They had argued then too, just so they could make up again. Each of them vying for power. This week, there had been the old intimacy between them that she had been convinced had long since dissipated without recall. But she was wrong.

Alex was right though. Derek wasn't her guy anymore. It wasn't her place to run to him, to salve his wounds and exorcise his demons. To love him. That was Meredith's job now. And she was left all alone. Even Mark was trailing after a Grey.

And she wasn't even counting everything that was waiting for her when she got back to California.

She stared down at her empty glass of bourbon, wondering how her life had gotten so screwed up.

'Can I buy you a drink?' The familiar voice cut through her racing thoughts, lifting them out of the groove they were stuck in.

She nodded wordlessly, unsurprised that he had found her here.

'Joe,' Alex called, 'another bourbon here please, and a beer.'

'Coming right up.'

'Is it okay if I sit here?' he asked, indicating to the bar stool next to Addison. Once again, she nodded, and he slid onto it.

'How did you find me?'

'If you think that was hard, then obviously you didn't play hide and seek enough as a child.'

She caved, and gave him a small chuckle. 'Sorry. But I guess I didn't really expect anyone to come looking for me, that's all.'

'How are you doing?' he asked, with a caring tone.

This time, she shook her head. 'I don't understand how I always end up back here.'

'In Seattle?'

'Staring at the bottom of a whiskey glass, wondering where it all went wrong.'

Joe put the drinks in front of them, and for a minute or two, they drank in a companionable silence. As they did so, Addison looked across at him. He was so beautiful, and he still had that haunted look behind his eyes that told her of a damage to his soul from which he would never truly recover. She had missed him, and his kindness. She didn't think anyone had just been _kind _to her like he was.

She reached out and laid her hand over his. 'Thank you for your help today. Thank you for being on my side.' She hadn't really expected Meredith to obey her in the OR, but she had known instinctively that Alex would in a heartbeat.

'It's good to have you back.' He meant it, she could see.

'Well, I would say it's good to be back, but that would be a lie.' She smiled at him then. 'It's good to see you again though.'

They were teetering on the edge of something. Very slowly, he turned his hand over so he could entwine his fingers with hers, and gazed deeply at her. They were sitting, she realised, in the exact same position as they had been _that _night, when they had kissed. It was a long time ago now, but she could still feel his lips moving softly against hers as if it was yesterday.

Alex felt as if he was balanced on a knife edge. He had been so convinced that he loved Izzie, that she was the one, right up until the second Addison strolled back into his life. He'd forgotten the way she made him feel. It wasn't just love, like it was with Izzie. This was something on a whole different plane. Love, lust, respect, admiration, _care. _

He hadn't stopped her running to Derek for Meredith's sake, or to save her from embarrassing herself. It had been so much more selfish than that. He had stopped her because he couldn't bear to see her throw herself at Derek, who neither loved nor deserved her. Not that he thought he deserved her himself, but Hell, at least he would _appreciate _her.

And then before he could stop himself, the words just came tumbling out. 'Addison, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was such an ass. I should never have treated you the way I did, and worst of all, I didn't even mean it. I wanted nothing more than for you to be my girlfriend. I still want it.'

'Alex, I…'

'And I know you still love Derek, and I know I'm meant to be in love with Izzie, but I don't care about that. I just… you fill my mind. All I see is you. And please don't think I'm asking for another chance or anything – I know I don't deserve one – but I can't not tell you.'

Suddenly, he ran out of steam, and his gaze fell away from her, embarrassed. Quickly, he let go of her hand.

Addison sat in stunned silence. Where the Hell had that come from? Had she even heard him right? Deep down, she had known he was sorry. Just as she had known he was sorry for saying he wasn't interested, but she had never thought he would say it to her. She had never thought he would be sorry enough to actually _say _it.

And what did he mean by it? She wasn't sure if she had the energy to start this dance she had with him all over again. And she didn't even live here anymore.

So she opened her mouth to say that it would never work, or something along those lines, but in fact, much to her surprise, what came out was, 'I don't love Derek anymore.'

'I can see the way you look at him.'

'I don't love him,' she said emphatically. 'Sometimes, I forget that I don't, but then something always happens to remind me.'

'What?' he asked.

She reached out again, and took his hand back into her own. 'Usually you.'

She heard him suck in a surprised breath, and he raised his eyes to meet her own again. He tried to think of something to say, or ask her what she meant, but the words stuck in his throat. He had always been more of an 'actions' sort of a guy, anyway.

So this time, it was him who stroked her cheek, and her who angled her face into his gentle touch. And they both leaned forward until the space between them had faded to nothing, and once more, they were kissing.

It was just as soft and tender as their first kiss had been, and they revelled in it, tongues gently caressing and tentatively tasting until the need for oxygen burned in their lungs. They ended the kiss, breathless, but didn't break apart, still resting their foreheads against each other.

'What now?' Alex whispered.

'I don't know,' she confessed.

'I love you.'

'I know.'

He leant back in his seat, and immediately she felt cold without his body close to hers. 'I was hoping for something a little more than _I know _to be honest Addison,' he replied, stung.

'I'm sorry. It's not that I don't… love you. I don't want to get your hopes up.'

'What do you mean?'

'My flight leaves for L.A. in an hour. I've got a cab booked to pick me up here in –' she glanced at her watch, 'five minutes. And I _am _going, I have to. I can't stay here, I hate this place, and it hates me.'

'Stay, please.'

'What about Izzie?'

'To Hell with Izzie. It's you I love.'

'Alex, I can't do this now. I'm too tired, too strung out. I just…' She stood up abruptly. 'I have to go.'

She made to walk out of the bar, but he got up and followed her. It was dark, and raining hard outside, but neither of them noticed.

'Addison, please, you can't just leave like this.'

'I'm sorry Alex.' There was a cab waiting on the opposite side of the road, and she crossed over to it, leaving him standing on the pavement outside the bar.

She opened the door, but was stopped from getting in by Alex's voice.

'Wait. Will you come back?'

'I don't know,' she called back through the rain. She didn't want it to end like this, but she couldn't let herself give in, even though there was nothing she wanted more than to run back across to him and let him envelope her in his strong arms, hold her against his chest.

'Can I come and visit you?'

She found herself nodding. '_Yes._'

Through the gloom, she saw a huge smile break out across his face and she found herself responding in kind. Blinking the rain and tears out of her eyes, she began to step towards him and he ran across the road.

She didn't see the truck coming until it was too late, but he didn't see it at all. She screamed, but it was in vain. She was the last thing he saw before he disappeared under the tyres.

_All that I am  
__All that I ever was  
__Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see_


	3. You can't leave

Author's Note: Apologies for any heart attacks/near heart attacks/major coronary events I gave anyone with the last chapter. Apparently some found the ending quite dramatic (you know who you are!) I would like to say this one is the calm after the storm, but that would be a lie. The storm is only just beginning. By the way my lovely ER readers, I will be trying to get back to Chicago/Baton Rouge as soon as possible, probably the next chapter. I wouldn't want you to think I've forgotten about you.

Disclaimer: As before. The song is Somewhere a clock is ticking by Snow Patrol.

Alex felt his whole body sag in relief as she called _yes _across the street through the rain and darkness. He hadn't realised how scared he was of losing her again until she said that. Already his mind was whirring with trying to work out how much leave he had, and how soon he might be able to get down to California.

Christ, he was an idiot to have ever let her go. Two wasted years, for both of them. She was wet and bedraggled by the rain, but standing there next to the cab, half illuminated by the orange glow of a streetlight, he thought she looked at her most beautiful. It was the smile, he realised. He didn't think he'd ever seen her smile with such pure, undisguised happiness before, and it smoothed out the crinkled lines of worry that her brother's illness had left on her face and made her look years younger.

His head was full of finally having the chance to fold her into his arms and call her his _girlfriend. _He was determined to spend the rest of his life making up for that rash, stupid comment.

That he currently had a girlfriend – Izzie – barely entered his thoughts. He would go to the airport to wave Addison off and eke every last second out of the time they had together, then he'd go back to the house and finish things with Izzie. He had no idea how she would take it, and although he knew it probably made him a bit of a bastard, right at that second he couldn't give a damn.

He knew he was getting a little carried away, but wondered fleetingly whether, if he couldn't persuade Addison to come back to Seattle, he might be able to transfer to a program at a L.A. hospital. The Seattle Grace surgical program was _one_ of the best in the country, but for neo-natal Addison was _the _best. And that was before you began to factor in the whole being in love with her thing.

She was beginning to cross the road towards him, and he ran to meet her.

Suddenly, a shrill scream, laced with terror, cut through the darkness and pierced his ears. There was just enough time for his soul to contract in fear as he saw the expression on Addison's face before the truck hit him.

The sound of the connection of his body with the metal of the truck exploded in his ears, and the headlights filled his eyes with a bright, white light. It wasn't quite like pain. Not like the sting of the back of his father's hand across his jaw, or the cut of a leather belt into the flesh of his back. It was too monumental, too widespread across his entire body to actually hurt. The closest thing it was like, he pondered, was in wrestling, when a move took him by surprised and knocked all the air from his lungs.

Yes, that was right; there was no air in his lungs. Which meant he couldn't breathe. Oh God, he couldn't breathe. He wasn't breathing. Alex wasn't sure if he was conscious or not, alive or not. He could feel the burn of the lack of oxygen in his chest and a thousand shooting pains now all over his body (if he could feel pain, he decided, that must be a good sign), but everything was black. Even though he could feel the wet asphalt underneath him, and the weight of the truck above him, at the same time he had a weird sensation of floating above the scene as well, looking down.

He watched as Addison ran over to his body, disregarding of the cars that were slamming their brakes on and swerving to avoid the stationary truck. From above, he could see that he was lying partly under the front of the truck, with one enormous wheel resting on his legs. Joe had come out of the bar, and Addison seemed to be screaming something at him. He was drawing a cellphone out of his pocket and dialling quickly.

Even though it was dark, and still raining, he watched as a red pool of his blood gradually seeping out from under the truck into the puddles of rainwater. Addison was kneeling next to him, the blood staining her clothes. He could see her holding his hand.

'It's okay, you're going to be okay. Joe has called an ambulance.'

The squeeze of her fingers and the sound of her voice in his ear brought Alex back to reality. He was no longer hovering above his body, and now the pain of his injuries hit him with full effect. Christ, he was in agony. His legs. He couldn't help letting out a groan of pain.

'Addison –' He croaked out.

'Shh, it's all right. Don't try and talk.' She held his hand even tighter, and he took comfort from her. 'I'm right here, I'm not going to leave you.'

'I don't want to die.' His statement sounded ridiculously childish, he realised as he said it. He didn't care though, it was the truth. He really had something to live for now. 'Not now.'

'I don't want you to die either. And I promise you I'm not going to let that happen.'

Alex's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and she glanced briefly down at his legs, which were mangled and still trapped under the heavy truck. And there was so much blood. It was everywhere. With a strong feeling of nausea in the pit of her stomach, Addison admitted to herself that things were not looking good. She wasn't going to let him know that though.

'You're going to be okay,' she repeated, not knowing what else to say. 'I'm going to look after you.' She paused. This might be her only chance to say this. 'I love you Alex.'

She didn't know if he heard her.

He drifted in and out of consciousness after that. Every time he was with it, he could feel Addison's presence beside him, her voice – trembling in fear – pouring out a stream of reassurance. He had a feeling Joe was there too. Yes, he was; Joe was holding an umbrella over them, trying to keep the worst of the rain off.

The ambulance couldn't possibly have taken more than a few minutes, as the hospital was just around the corner, but they all lost their sense of time and space. Alex was vaguely aware of paramedics buzzing around, and possibly some firemen trying to free him from underneath the truck. He was being loaded onto a backboard, and into an ambulance, but all he was certain of was Addison still being next to him.

As long as Addison was still next to him, he would be fine.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Izzie and Meredith were sitting quietly in a back corridor, hiding from the world. Meredith had patiently cleaned Derek up after the fight, doing her best not to speak her mind, but she wasn't stupid, or blind. Derek didn't punch Sloan over Lexie. He couldn't care less whether Mark was sleeping with _Lexie_, not really.

It was about Addison. It was _always _about Addison.

Izzie wasn't in much better humour herself. Though Alex was as kind and caring as ever, he'd been following Addison around with all the starry eyed hero worship as he had when he was an intern. Except Izzie was no more stupid or blind than Meredith was. It was a Hell of a lot more than professional respect Alex felt for Addison.

She should have known, if she was honest with herself, when he started to specialise in OB/GYN and neo-natal. Meredith was absolutely right, it was _always _about Addison.

She was eating dry muesli from a box she had extracted from her locker before they went into hiding, and offered some to Meredith, who took a handful.

'You know,' Izzie mumbled around a mouthful of raisins, 'he says he loves me, and I think in a way he does, but I always get the impression his heart isn't quite in it.' She was too proud to actually voice her fears about Addison, but she wouldn't have been surprised if Meredith knew what was running through her head.

Except Meredith wasn't listening to a word she was saying, as her reply gave away. 'Sometimes, I don't know why he divorced her. I mean, it's as if they're still married. She comes to him for help to save her brother, and he asks her to hang around and consult on his case. Seriously, where the Hell do I fit in with all this cosy familiarity?'

Izzie was vaguely aware she hadn't received the response she was looking for, but she was just warming up to her rant now, and wasn't going to let a less than attentive audience put her off.

'He's been following her around like a puppy dog the entire time she's been here. He says it's because she's the leading expert in his field, but I know there is something more to it than that.'

They continued to talk at cross purposes for a little while until they were interrupted by Cristina plopping down on the end of the gurney next to them. She'd picked up on their topic of conversation as she had been walking down the corridor towards them.

'Well, I'm sure you'll both be delighted to hear that the surgeon formerly known as Satan is off back to California. Her flight leaves this evening. In fact, she's probably in a cab on the way to the airport as we speak.'

Neither Izzie or Meredith went quite as far as saying _good_. It wasn't that they disliked Addison, but they didn't like the influence she seemed to have over the men in their lives. They couldn't exactly say they were sorry to see her go though.

Cristina plunged her hand into the box of muesli and withdrew with a handful. 'Are some people feeling a little insecure with the longer than expected presence of a certain neo-natal surgeon?'

'I thought Derek and I were actually getting somewhere,' Meredith admitted. 'I didn't expect to have to fight for him every time she appears in Seattle.'

'Who says you had to fight for him this time?'

'Come on Cristina. Do you honestly think Derek could care less if Mark is sleeping with Lexie? That fight wasn't about her.'

'You don't know that.'

'Don't I?'

Cristina was about to start on Izzie, who looked about as miserable and fed up as Meredith did, but the sound of running footsteps cut her off. George, out of breath, appeared around the corner, and just as he did so, all their pagers started beeping simultaneously.

'What is it? What's happened?' Meredith asked, her hand going to the waistband of her scrubs, where her pager was clipped.

'Alex,' George panted. 'Accident.'

'What?' Izzie leapt off the gurney and began to run towards George, closely followed by Meredith and Cristina.

He put out a hand and leant against the wall, using the other to clutch the stitch in his side. He'd run all the way up from the ER, where he'd been downstairs on a consult when a bloody and battered Alex had been rushed in. It was three flights of stairs from this particular hiding place, and all the lifts had been full.

'Alex was hit by a truck outside Joe's. He's… He's in a bad way.'

'Oh my God.' All the colour drained from Izzie's face, and for a moment, the spectre of Denny hovered before her eyes. She couldn't lose someone else she loved, she just couldn't. She wouldn't live through it a second time.

'Where is he?' Meredith asked.

'In the ER,' George answered. 'But they were bringing him up to surgery.'

All four of them ran back down to the surgical floor, George forgetting his exhaustion in their collective panic and fear. The page they had all been sent simply read '_911 Alex OR 3_' so they ran there as fast as they could.

When they got there, Callie, Derek, Mark and the Chief were already scrubbing in, their faces grim. One of Derek's eyes was empurpled and a little swollen, and Mark's lip was split, his cheek grazed, but the fight was the last thing on any of their minds right then. Outside the OR, Bailey was stationed, looking formidable.

They made to push past her, but she placed herself squarely in their path. 'I can't let you in there. You know that.'

'What happened?'

'He was crossing the road outside the Emerald City Bar and he was hit by a truck. His condition is critical but reasonably stable. His main injuries are severe crush injuries to both his legs, and unless there is some sort of miracle in there, Doctor Torres will be performing a double below knee amputation.'

Izzie felt her knees waver, but she didn't fall. She grabbed George's arm and held onto him tightly. She swallowed, her throat bone dry.

_A double below knee amputation. Oh God. Oh _God.

Suddenly, they realised that they were not the only blanched faces standing outside the OR. It was Meredith who saw her first, and one by one they followed her gaze and turned to look at the figure by the doorway.

Addison was soaked to the skin, her hair plastered in cold wet tendrils to her face. Her clothes were dripping a pool of water onto the tiled floor, except the puddle around her feet was pinkish in colour and they realised it was Alex's blood that was staining the water. She was even paler than Izzie, and looked utterly terrified.

'What the Hell are you still doing here?' Izzie asked accusatorily.

A nurse poked her head out of the OR. 'Doctor Bailey, they want you to scrub in, in case they need another pair of hands.'

Miranda disappeared into the OR, quick to help, and Addison watched her go feeling as if her only possible ally was deserting her. But she didn't care what they said to her, as long as she was there holding Alex's hand when he woke up.

Izzie repeated her question, and there was a certain venom in her voice. She should have known. She should have _damn well known _that somehow Addison would be involved in this.

'I…'

'Because it seems to me whenever there's trouble, there's you Doctor Montgomery.'

Izzie knew she was being unnecessarily cruel, but seeing Addison standing there, drenching in Alex's blood and clearly petrified for his safety confirmed all her suspicions and more. She was scared for Alex herself, and jealous, and indescribably hurt. She wanted to be the one at Alex's side when he woke up, the one to hold his hand and take care of him.

'I'm sorry,' Addison managed to utter, and in spite of herself, she felt hot tears begin to spill down her cold cheeks. She was so scared. After taking a quick look at Alex when he first came downstairs, Callie had already declared it unlikely that she would be able to save his legs.

'I don't care if you're sorry. You just can't help yourself, can you?' Izzie hissed. 'Wherever you go, you cause carnage. Do you hurt people for fun, or are you just that thoughtless?'

'I… I don't…'

Meredith, Cristina and George looked uncomfortable at Izzie's outburst, but not one of them spoke up to defend Addison. She hadn't expected them too – they were bound to be on Izzie's side.

_As if there were sides, _she thought suddenly. _Surely we're all on Alex's side, and that should be what matters right now. _

'I think you should go. No-one wants you here; you don't have any right to be here. So just go, go back to California.'

Addison stop frozen to the spot, trying to make her mouth form the words of a response to defend herself. Images of Alex flashed through her mind – the kiss at the bar, and his whispered confession of love. The passion in his eyes as he'd looked at her, and the utter dismissiveness in his tone as he had said _To Hell with Izzie. _Holding his hand and promising she would stay with him. He had been scared, and she was scared for him. She couldn't leave him here. He would want her to stay with him.

She couldn't not be here when he woke up.

She began to shake her head, standing her ground, but Izzie's expression made her resolve waver. Maybe she was right, maybe all she ever did was cause hurt and pain. Look at Alex for Christ's sake, if it hadn't been for her, he would be safe and whole, not fighting for his life and about to lose his legs.

Maybe she should just walk away. Izzie loved him, she would look after him. He would be okay.

_His voice was soft and scared. 'I don't want to die. Not now.'_

'_I don't want you to die either. And I promise you I'm not going to let that happen. You're going to be okay. I'm going to look after you.' And then the pause before she said what she realised had been true for a long time before this evening. 'I love you Alex.'_

She wanted to stay. She had to stay here, with him.

Except she couldn't. She turned and ran.

_Something happened that I never understood  
__You can't leave  
__Every second dripping off my fingertips  
__Wage your war  
__Another soldier says he's not afraid to die  
__Well I am scared_


	4. Sitting Waiting Wishing

Author's Note: I think I've been giving my muses too much caffeine. Another chapter already, and another of _Be careful what you wish for _well on the way. After that, I promise an update for _Back to the Beginning – _it's high time don't you think? By the way, as you may or may not have noticed, this story has now appeared over here on the ER pages. Having given up on posting in the crossovers section, I'll be putting the story either in the ER or the Grey's section depending on the main focus of the chapter. If that's going to drive you up the wall, then maybe you might like to add it to your alerts?

Disclaimer: As before. The song is Sitting Waiting Wishing by Jack Johnson.

Straightening up, Ray winced in pain and admitted defeat. He had only been out of hospital for a couple of weeks, and packing up his apartment and trying to shift boxes definitely fell into the category of too much, too soon. There was no way he was strong enough – or steady enough on his carbon fibre feet – to be lugging around anything heavier than a pizza box (that, he had found he could manage okay).

A couple of guys from work had offered to help him with the move, and it looked like he was going to have to swallow his pride and accept their offer. It hadn't stopped grating, this being so reliant on others, but it was lessening as he was getting stronger, and he knew he was improving all the time.

It was damn hard work though. His normal routine consisted of a relentless catalogue of gym visits – two hours a day, one before work and one after, PT – now down to three sessions a week but as gruelling as ever, and weekly sessions with a psychiatrist.

He hated the therapy. After the accident though, he had been in about as low and black a place as you could come out of the other side of (and he almost hadn't) and, although it pained him to admit it, therapy helped. His psychiatrist, Doctor Kent, was a quiet, peaceful man only a few years older than himself and was a much better listener than Ray had expected. At first, he asked none of the probative questions Ray had been dreading, and the stock phrase '_and how does that make you feel?_' hadn't crossed his lips once.

For the first four sessions, they had discussed nothing deeper than seventies British punk music and the last weekend's football results, and although Ray knew it was a calculated move to gain his trust, it worked like a dream, so Ray opened up a lot more than he might otherwise have done. As a result of the therapy, he felt a lot more together about things – not just the accident and the events preceding it, but way back as well; his childhood, which hadn't exactly been a bed of roses. And all the gym and PT had left him fitter than he had ever been in his life.

If you weighed everything up, he could confidently say that he was in an okay place. It wasn't _perfect_, it had one Hell of a way to go before it was even _good_, but it was _okay_, _not too bad. All right. _It was certainly a hundred thousand times better than he had ever thought it would be. This new job was going to going to help though, he was sure of it. His own _department, _effectively. He couldn't wait.

There was just one thing. Neela. God, he missed her. He knew he shouldn't, but he did. It was that simple. Now he was out of his mother's house and back living in an apartment of his own again, he felt her absence even more acutely. He had taken to watching the World Poker Tour, and sometimes he would glance up to the other end of the sofa and for a split second, he genuinely surprised not to see her sitting there.

He had started buying things that reminded him of her too. There was a box of unopened Special K in the cupboard, and her favourite sandalwood shower gel on the bathroom shelf. He hadn't told his shrink about this, just in case he took the patently obvious hints of crazy to mean that Ray wasn't quite as okay as he appeared. Privately, he justified the purchases on the grounds that one day Neela might just turn up on his doorstep, finally ready to say all the things he had been waiting, wishing to hear for so long.

_Yeah, right. _

Relations with Neela were… tentative. A couple of months after the accident, shortly after he had been discharged from LeChatlier, a letter from her had arrived out of the blue. It was full of guilt and apologies, none of which he had wanted to hear from her. Losing his legs had been an _accident_, she didn't need to apologise for _that. _It was the rest of it he wouldn't mind her acknowledging.

In the end, he had written back to her because in spite of himself, he just couldn't bring himself to sever contact, but his letter had been brief, full mainly of technical details regarding his recovery. He had signed it off as 'Roomie' though.

Since then, with a slowness that was just about on the same painstaking schedule as his recovery, they had gradually progressed to emails, instant messaging, and now, over the last few weeks, phone calls. It was almost always him who called her though, and every time he did, he wondered what masochistic gene there was in him that was letting himself get sucked into chasing after her again. There was still an air of awkwardness, but they were getting there. Ray knew that if she wasn't feeling so guilty they would be getting there faster, but he couldn't face talking about it over the phone. One day, he would go and see her, but not yet.

He wanted to tell her about the job though. He knew she would be excited for him, professionally if nothing else, and with any luck it would keep the conversation going longer than normal.

Lowering himself carefully onto the sofa, he flipped open his cellphone. Even though it was relatively new, his last one having been obliterated in the accident, he had still programmed her number into speed dial. Old habits and all that.

She picked up after only a couple of rings. 'Ray, hi.'

'Hey, how are you?'

'Exhausted. Dubenko quit and even though Crenshaw has been calling him pretty much on the hour, every hour since he handed in his resignation, he refuses to come back. So the rest of us are pulling doubles trying to plug the gaps in the schedule.'

'That sucks,' Ray said sympathetically. 'How's everyone holding up after Greg…? How are you holding up?' He asked the question tenderly, knowing that for Neela, Greg had represented a link to Michael, and now he was dead as well, another piece of evidence of her marriage was eroded away.

Neela sighed. 'I'm okay, I guess. I haven't really had the time to dwell on it that much, what with everything that has happened. I feel sorry for Betina though, and Chaz. And Morris isn't coping at all well.'

Ray could imagine. Morris must be feeling pretty lonely now. He must remember to give him a call.

'Have you had any ideas yet on what you might do at the end of this year?' he asked casually. He didn't really want to talk about Greg any more than he had to, it was just too close to home, and Neela's post residency plans were something they had talked about a couple of times. It was a safe enough topic, as long as Ray's willpower held, and he didn't ask her if she possibly might think about considering moving somewhere a little closer to him.

'I've been looking at a few fellowships but there isn't anything that is really jumping out at me at the moment. I'll probably apply to Duke, maybe John Hopkins, but I don't need to think about it for a couple of months or so.'

'No, I suppose not. What about County? Don't you want to stay there?'

'I don't know,' she replied quietly. 'Right now there doesn't seem a whole lot to hang around here for.'

Ray felt his heart leap in his chest as his brain immediately went into overdrive considering all the possible implications of her statement. To distract himself, he changed the subject.

'Anyway, I was calling for a reason. I have some news.'

His tone suggested he had something good to impart, so Neela responded in kind, trying not to feel hurt that he brushed over her half-confession. Not that she blamed him; she had no right at all to go dangling snippets like that in the conversation.

'What news?' she asked, carefully keeper her tone bright.

'I've been offered a new job.'

He sounded excited, and for a fleeting second, Neela found herself hoping he was going to say he was coming back to Chicago. But then, she reasoned, why would he _want _to come back to Chicago?

'Really? That's great news, where? Are you going to take it? And what is it in, P M and R or back in Emergency Medicine?'

'P M and R. I see that as my future now, I don't particularly want to go back to Emergency Medicine – I get so much more out of what I'm doing now. And it's in Seattle, Seattle Grace.'

'Seattle Grace, that's – that's amazing Ray.'

She sounded seriously impressed. 'Have you heard of it?' he frowned.

'Of course. They have one of the best surgical programs in the country. You're incredibly lucky to get a job there. I'd do anything to get in.'

Her statement was unguarded, driven by professional enthusiasm, but as soon as the words were out, she realised what she had said. _Far too fast Neela, _she told herself, _for both of you. _She couldn't think quickly enough to backpedal, so she asked another question, hoping to gloss over her previous statement.

'What's the P M and R department like?'

'Virtually non-existent,' he replied, his voice steady enough to wonder if he had even been affected by what she had just said. Either he had incredible self control, or he really couldn't care less whether she was in Seattle or anywhere else. And Ray never had been big on self control.

'One of the doctors there has just had a double below knee amputation so they suddenly have an incentive to get a good department up and running. Someone there read my latest paper, and I've been invited in pretty much to do what I want. I'll be working with an ortho surgeon, but other than that, I'll have a free rein to assemble a team, allocate funding, the works.'

'That's… wow.' Neela, naturally, had read all the papers Ray had written on various aspects of P M and R, although much more from a desire to find out how he was really doing than out of professional interest. Reading between the lines, he sounded okay. Better than okay. Certainly a whole lot better than she was. An involuntary shudder passed over her as she remembered Brenner's hands skimming over her body. How had she thought screwing him would help? And now she couldn't bloody get rid of him.

'When do you leave?' she asked.

'Well, I'm packing right now. I'm flying up there in a couple of days, then I start work a week on Monday.'

'That's really soon. How do you feel about leaving Baton Rouge?'

'Pretty good.' He understood why his mother was being so overprotective, but he was thirty years old for Christ's sake, a grown man. She had already tried every trick and emotional blackmail in the book and a few more besides to try to persuade him to stay, to no avail. 'I need to spread my wings, get out on my own. It will go me good.'

_There, you hear that Neela, _she thought, _on his own. He doesn't want you around, and who can blame him?_

She was saved from having to think up a response by her pager going off. _Thank God._

'Look, Ray, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to go, I've just been paged.'

'No worries.'

'Okay, well, um… Good luck. Call me from Seattle and let me know how you're settling in and all that,' she said awkwardly.

'I will do.' She thought he was going to say goodbye, but he added, 'And Neela?'

'Yeah?'

'You can call me sometime too you know. Just for a chat or whatever.'

'I will.'

'Will you?' He knew a hint of bitterness had crept into his tone, but sometimes he just couldn't help it.

'I will Ray, I promise,' she said earnestly, but he didn't allow herself to get his hopes up. It was easier that way.

He sighed wearily. 'Bye Neela, take care.'

'You too, bye.'

Ray ended the call, and leant back, resting his head against the back of the sofa. Talking to Neela always resulted in a wave of frustration washing over him. They had so much they needed to say to each other, so much to talk about, yet all they seemed able to manage were these stilted conversations full of small talk and absolutely no substance whatsoever. They used to be able to talk for hours about absolute crap when they were living together, and now?

The logical part of his brain knew these things took time. It was still only two years since Neela had lost her husband, which wasn't all that long really, although it felt like half a lifetime ago. And although on a basic level, his recovery was largely complete, he still had a long way to go before he was where he wanted to be.

Which was with Neela. Goddammit. Still, after all this time and everything that she had put him through, he wanted to be with her. Talk about glutton for punishment. It just felt like if they didn't get their happy ending, then he had been through indescribable agony, both physical and emotional, for no reason at all. It would be such a waste.

Hopefully a change of scene would help him see a way through the fog. Carefully, he stood up and started labelling boxes.

_I can't always be waiting waiting on you  
I can't always be playing playing your fool  
I keep playing your part  
But it's not my scene  
Won't this plot not twist?  
I've had enough mystery.  
Keep building me up, then shooting me down  
Well I'm already down  
Just wait a minute  
Just sitting waiting_


	5. But you were gone

Author's Note: I'm afraid I have somehow managed to progress the two halves of this story at a different pace. The ER chapters are currently about a month ahead of Grey's and I haven't been able to think of some cunning and clever storytelling trick to put it right so I am afraid I am going to have to ask for the forbearance of my ER readers while I tap out a couple of Grey's chapters to try to catch up. On the upside though, I can promise that when Ray gets to Seattle, you won't be feeling so left out. (And by the way, I hope this chapter redeems Izzie a little, or at least, illustrates her feelings and reasoning a little better. I'm not a huge fan of the character, but even I felt a tad guilty after her portrayal in the last chapter!)

Disclaimer: As before. The song is Time and Time Again by Counting Crows, and that isn't mine either. The only thing I can lay claim to is my depressing taste in music.

Callie blinked a couple of times, trying to force some of the tiredness out of her eyes. She was exhausted, that kind of bone weary tiredness that felt like it would never leave you. She had been a good eight or nine hours into her shift when Alex had been brought it, and now she had just spent another five hours on her feet in the OR, so pretty much every muscle, ligament, tendon, bone and cell in her body wasn't so much aching as screaming out in pain.

Her part in the operation was now over, and she was scrubbing out. Derek and Mark were just finishing up on some tissue and nerve repair work on the stumps, and then Chief Webber and Bailey would close. She scrubbed at her hands and arms even more thoroughly than usual, very conscious that it was Alex's blood that was on her, and when she had finally finished, she splashed some cold water over her face and stared blankly at her reflection in the mirror, trying to come to terms with what had just happened.

She had taken Alex's legs. She had taken a scalpel and a bone saw, and she had cut the shattered remains off from the rest of his body. She had never been squeamish in her life before, but she had felt physically sick at the sound of the saw whirring against the bone.

As soon as she had seen the damage, down in the ER, she knew it was unlikely that she would be able to save his legs. It was obvious that the truck had been resting directly on them, and a quick portable x-ray had revealed multiple fractures, including compound fractures, of both the left and right tibia and fibula – really hideous breaks that would require half a ton of metalwork to get then to mend anything like straight. Even if she had managed to fix them with pins and plates, restore the blood flow to his lower legs and feet and successfully reconnect the tendons and ligaments necessary for movement, he would always have a severe limp, almost certainly need a cane, and his weakened legs may impair his ability to do things like stand for long surgeries.

So really, she did know that long term, by carrying out the amputation, she would be offering him a much better quality of life, but that knowledge did nothing to assuage the crippling wave of guilt that was washing over her. She had never felt like this before, but she supposed because she knew Alex, it was different. Normally after an amputation, she never had to see the effect of her handiwork. She could walk out of the OR, happy and secure in the knowledge that she had done the best for her patient. Okay, so there would be an element of interaction during the immediate post-op care, but she never had to witness the months of physical therapy and rehabilitation that was required for the patient to lead a 'normal' life again. She knew now she would be watching every pain filled step.

She groaned quietly, and took in her appearance. She looked pale and haggard, ten years older than she actually was. An arc of blood spatter so perfect it was almost graceful was sprayed across the front of her scrubs from an artery that had slipped through her tired fingers as she had been trying to tie it off.

Suddenly, the horror of it all overtook her and she felt the meagre contents of her stomach – a hastily grabbed turkey sandwich about ten hours ago – rise up in her throat then before she could stop herself, she retched violently and threw up in the sink. She was sick again, until there was nothing left to come up, and after a couple of dry heaves, she wiped her mouth and gripped the edge of the sink.

She saw a figure in the mirror come up behind her, peeling his gloves off. She met the eyes of the reflection and pulled a rueful grin that looked much more like a grimace.

'Better not use this one,' she said, indicating to the sink. 'Not very sterile.'

Mark began to scrub out two sinks away instead, and glanced sideways at her. 'How are you doing, you okay?'

She nodded. 'It all just hit me. Alex's life is never, ever going to be the same again, and I've done that. I took his legs away.'

Mark, having finished at the sink, came over to her, and taking her scrub cap off, he wound a stray curl behind her ear. 'You don't really think that, do you?'

'I can't even begin to imagine what he's going to say when he wakes up.'

Mark shook his head at her, and let the backs of his fingers softly brush her cheek. 'You did the right thing Callie.'

'I feel so guilty.'

He hugged her, and they stayed like that for a long moment. Mark was vaguely aware that Derek was at the other end of the room, scrubbing quietly, but he didn't pay any attention to him, and Callie hadn't appeared to notice him.

Callie felt safer somehow in Mark's arms. She had missed this. With the advent of Lexie Grey on his horizon, they hadn't been spending as much time together as they used to, and she revelled in the brief moment they did have together. But it couldn't stop the images flashing through her mind. She closed her eyes but a vision of Addison, drenched, blanched white and dripping with blood and rain was branded on the inside of her eyelids.

Reluctantly, she wriggled out of Mark's arms and looked up at him. 'I should go and find Addison. She was meant to be flying back to LA tonight, I don't know what she's even still doing here,' she said, even though she had a sneaking suspicion. Why else would she and Alex be drinking together at Joe's? And she had seen the way Alex had been clutching Addison's hand. He hadn't let go even as he slipped in and out of consciousness.

'I'll come with you,' Mark offered.

'No, it's okay.' Although everything with Alex had rather overtaken the events of the afternoon, Callie thought it would be a good idea to keep Mark and Derek away from Addison for a little while. They had seemed to have buried the hatchet, or at least, as much as they were ever going to, until she came back and set off all the old feelings of animosity again. 'I'll talk to Addison. Could you go and break the news to Izzie and the others. I expect they are still outside as well.'

'I'll do that.' Derek's voice, coming from the corner, was hard and cold as he looked at Mark.

Callie glared at them both. She was in no mood for one of their stupid squabbles, there were more important things in life, and how they couldn't see that right now was beyond her.

'You can both go and tell them,' she said sternly. 'Act your age for once in your lives.' They both opened their mouths to protest, so she let rip. 'Oh, grow up, the pair of you. Alex has just had his legs amputated, in case you haven't noticed, and you're fighting over who Mark's screwing this week.'

She knew the fight was much more about their history than Lexie Grey, but trivialising it suited the tone of her argument more. And she also knew that Lexie meant more to Mark than just some chick to screw – that was why she was so mad with him over it. Addison was right, being left for a Grey sucked.

Taking no notice of whether Mark and Derek were following her out, she pushed the door open and stepped into the corridor. Meredith and Cristina were sitting on the floor, backs resting against the walls and their eyes closed. For a moment, she thought they were asleep, or at least dozing, until she heard then quietly quizzing each other on surgical procedures. It sounded like Cristina was running through an aortic valve replacement.

Izzie was standing with her back to the OR, apparently staring out of the window. George was hovering next to her. Callie couldn't see her face, but she was gripping the windowsill just as Callie had been gripping the sink a minute ago. Her knuckles were white.

Meredith must have had half an eye open because as soon as Callie was through the door, she sprang to her feet, and the others, alerted by the action, turned to face her.

'Alex?' Izzie looked at her, pleading for news. They must all have had a long wait.

'They're just closing. He'll be in recovery soon, Bailey will come and find you as soon as you can see him.'

'But what's happened?' Meredith asked.

'Mark and Derek are coming out to explain.' She looked around for Addison. There was a pool of pink tinged water on the floor by the door which must have come from her, but other than that, there was no sign of her. Callie was surprised, she had expected Addison to be here.

She frowned. 'Where's Addison?'

It was only for a split second, but she saw everyone's eyes flicker briefly to Izzie, which told her more than enough. She had had enough of Izzie Stevens and her spite. She'd taken her husband, just because she _could _and now she was going to wreck things for Addison too? Addison, who had been through so much.

'What the Hell have you done?'

'I –' Izzie barely had the chance to open her mouth before Callie cut across her, yelling now.

'What did you say to her?'

'I didn't –'

'Yes you did. Yes you damn well did. You said something to her, and now she's gone.'

Callie was about to say more, but she felt a hand on her shoulder, and a gentle voice in her ear. 'Leave it. Go and find Addison.' If it had been anyone other than Mark, she would have told them to go to Hell, but his words reminded her that finding Addison was the most important thing right now.

She turned to go, but before she did, she looked back at Izzie one last time. 'If she's gone, I swear to God –'

'Callie, go,' Mark said sternly. 'You're not helping.' She threw him an icy look, and left.

Once she was gone, Mark turned his attention to the others, who were looking distinctly awkward at the exchange between Callie and Izzie. Izzie had obviously said something to make Addison leave, but Mark wasn't enormously interested in what it was. Emotions were running high – it seemed everyone was having a day of saying and doing things they regretted.

'How's Alex? What's happening?' Cristina now asked.

'He's doing well,' Mark said. 'His lower legs were very badly damaged, there were extensive crush injuries, and Callie had to carry out a double below knee amputation.'

'She took his legs?!'

'It wasn't like that Izzie. It's never like that, as you very well know,' Derek interrupted calmly, and there was no sense that he was cutting across Mark, just helping.

'In the long term, this is by far the better option in terms of what kind of recovery and range of movement that will be achievable,' Mark continued. 'It would have been impossible to repair so much damage.'

'Mark and I have done some work on the nerve and soft tissue repair, so as soon as the stumps have healed, he should be able to be fitted for prosthetics. He'll have to start a physical therapy regime as soon as he's up to it, but he will have to be transferred to a specialist Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation Centre. We don't have the facilities or the expertise here.'

Slowly, they processed the information. He was okay. He was alive. _He's alive_, Izzie kept repeating to herself over and over. That was the main thing. It was the only thing, really. The amputation was shocking, horrific, _terrible_, but he wasn't dead. She took a deep breath, and crossed herself. She'd be offering up a lot of Hail Marys for this. She felt George reach for her hand and she squeezed back.

She looked up at Derek and Mark and managed a shaky smile. 'Thank you. _Thank you._'

'That's okay,' Derek replied as Mark said 'Thank Callie.'

Just then, Bailey poked her head out of the scrub room door. 'Guys, we've finished in here now. Alex is on his way up to recovery. Izzie, you can go and sit with him, but the rest of you will have to wait a while.' Her tone was typically business-like, but looking at their pale, drained faces she took pity on them. 'Why don't you go and grab a coffee or something, then I'll see if you can go in.'

Izzie climbed the stairs on her own. The others had taken the elevator up to the cafeteria, but she needed a moment alone. She knew she had behaved badly towards Addison, and she wouldn't have been any nicer to Callie, had she been able to get a word in edgeways. Her only excuse, feeble though it was, was that she was absolutely terrified. The idea of Alex in danger sent fingers of ice clawing around her heart.

She didn't let herself pause at the door to the ICU. If she hesitated, just for a second, she might not have the courage to go in, and Alex was going to need her.

She took a seat next to his bed, and clasped his cold hand in hers, and waited.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The first time he woke up, he wasn't sure where he was. Very, very distantly, he could hear voices but they were muffled and indistinct. His ears felt as if they were full of treacle. In fact, it felt as if his whole head was full of the stuff. Not bothering to fight it, he let himself drift back to sleep.

The second time, he was a bit more aware. That time he woke up, he could definitely feel something. Pain. It was overwhelming, throbbing and screaming through every last inch of his body. He wanted to shout out, but he didn't seem to have a voice anymore. Then someone must have upped his morphine, because the pain seemed to fade away, and his consciousness went with it.

Third time lucky. Or not so lucky, depending on how you looked at it. The third time he woke up, the pain didn't go away, and he hadn't been wrong before, it really was all over his body. _Feels like I've been hit by a truck. _His inner self chuckled a little, in spite of the pain.

As he came around, scenes leading up to the accident flashed through his mind. Addison, kissing Addison. Telling her that he loved her. Running through the rain towards her. He remembered lying there on the tarmac with her holding his hand and promising that she wouldn't leave him. She _wouldn't _leave him.

Gradually, he became aware that someone was holding his hand right now. Long, cool surgeon's fingers were entwined with his own, and with an absolute conviction borne of his flashbacks, he knew he was going to open his eyes and see Addison sitting next to him.

'Alex, oh Alex, you're awake. Thank God. _Thank God._'

Only it wasn't Addison's voice that was offering up prayers of gratitude and it wasn't her long, cool surgeon's fingers that were frantically crossing herself. There was a flash of blond bending over him, and pressing lips to his forehead, not the red he was expecting.

Izzie. It was Izzie.

_Not Addison. _

_Where was Addison?_

Glancing briefly from side to side, he saw the other people in the room, the doors bursting open at the sound of Izzie's exclamation. Half the hospital seemed to be there, but not the one person he wanted to be, was sure would be. _Not Addison. _

Suddenly, the ground beneath him opened up into a giant chasm, and he went hurtling into it, head first. As he hit the sides on the way down, he could hear Izzie's voice telling him he had been in an accident. That a truck had hit him as he was leaving Joe's. She didn't mention Addison, and he was glad. Somewhere in all of it, he heard her say _double below knee amputation_ but he really didn't care anymore.

Without Addison, he didn't care about any of it.

_I wanted so badly someone other than me  
__Staring back at me but you were gone  
__I wanted to see you walking backwards  
__And get the sensation of you coming home  
__I wanted to see you walking away from me  
__Without the sensation of you leaving me alone_


	6. Better things are on the way

Author's Note: Finally. As from the end of this chapter, the Grey's and ER threads of this story are now chronologically equal, so it should be a bit more balanced. From now on, I shall be trying to make the two a little more integrated rather than two different stories with barely any reference to each other. And remember, reviews are my muse's caffeine.

Disclaimer: As before. The song used is Better Things by The Kinks.

Alex pushed his lunch tray away untouched, blocking out Izzie's disapproving tut and refusing to meet her gaze. The food was shit anyway, it wouldn't have been an appealing prospect even if he did have an appetite. He had managed to persuade Cristina to bring him in a few contraband pizzas in return for promising to request that she would be in on one of the many future surgeries he was going to have to undergo, but he hadn't eaten a lot else.

He hadn't _anything _a lot really. He just didn't see the point in it all any more. He was an amputee, a cripple. What the Hell sort of future did he have without legs? You needed legs, you couldn't just do without them. Right now, he didn't see how he could _live _without them.

The day after he'd woken up, Callie had come to apologise to him. Some small, disconnected part of him could see that she was upset, and really trying to say the right thing, but he didn't want to listen. He just wished everyone would leave him alone. Eventually, he cut across her.

'I really don't care,' he snapped.

She had looked stung. 'Alex, I'm trying to say I'm sorry. I did everything I could, but the injuries were too –'

'Go. I don't want to know. I just want to be left alone.'

She had sat there in silence for a moment, biting her lip, and Alex viciously hoped she was going to cry, so he could shout at her for having nothing to cry about. But instead she stood up, and smiled a brittle little smile.

'Okay, I'll go. But I'm going to keep coming back until you're ready to hear me. I'm not going to give up on you, however much you push me away. None of us are.'

Her voice had a steely edge to it, and he knew she wasn't kidding. The same part of him that recognised that she was upset felt a glimmer of gratitude at her determination, but at the moment, it was easier to dismiss it. It was only pity after all. Every time anyone had come to see him, all he could see was pity in their eyes, and it was driving him mad. Poor Alex, poor crippled Alex. He could do without them.

His mood hadn't improved over the intervening week, and it had deteriorated with every new discussion with Callie, who was officially his doctor. Every time the words wheelchair, prosthetics, rehabilitation were mentioned, his gaze got blacker.

Izzie was now chirping something about needing to keep his strength up by eating properly, but he couldn't bear her cheery tone. As if by eating his cardboard lunch everything was going to be okay.

He pushed the lunch tray again, this time upending it and scattering its contents on the floor.

'That's what I think of your stupid lunch, okay? Unless fucking soup and dry ham sandwiches are going to help me grow a new pair of legs, I'm really not interested.'

'Alex…'

'Fuck off.'

He'd made a lot of people cry over the last few days, and he did the same again. Izzie's face fell, and even though he could see her digging her nails into her palms, her eyes began to well up. He wasn't sorry.

She stood up with as much dignity as she could muster. 'I'll ask a janitor to come in and clear up the mess. See you later.' She bent to kiss him on the cheek, but he turned his face away from her.

When Izzie shut the door behind her, she found Callie standing outside. They had fallen into an unofficial truce since their row, but it was more for everyone else's sake than their own. Addison stood as an unspoken barrier between them, adding to the spectre of George.

Quickly, she wiped away her tears. She'd be damned if she was going to let Callie Torres see her cry. 'What do you want?' she asked, the mistrust clear in her voice.

Callie rolled her eyes at Izzie's attitude. 'Look, I want to help. I'm Alex's doctor, and right now, I don't feel that I'm doing enough for him.'

'So? What do you want me to do? In case you haven't noticed, he's barely talking to me. He's barely talking to anyone, so if you think you've got some miracle cure…'

'Stop okay,' Callie snapped. 'You want Alex to get better. I want Alex to get better. Now, to me, that seems like we've got a pretty important aim in common right now. I for one am willing to do everything I can to help him, and,' her expression softened in sympathy for a moment, 'I know you are too. We don't get on, we probably never will, but we're going to have to work together on this.'

Izzie's shoulders slumped and she lost her aggressive stance as she sighed deeply. 'Okay. You're right. Do you have any ideas? Because, really, I don't know how to get through to him. I've tried, but I can't make him see that even though this is just awful, there's a way to get through it, because there's always a way. I mean, we're all here for him. What more can I do?'

'I don't know, I honestly don't, but I've been doing some reading and talking to a few people, and I've had an idea. I want us to set up our own Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation Center here at Seattle Grace. I know it's ambitious, and expensive, and I have no idea how I'm going to persuade the board it's a good idea, but I think that Alex will do better if he is here, amongst friends.'

Callie spoke very quickly, as the idea had been rolling around in her head for a few days now, and since she'd read an article in a journal by some PM&R resident down in Baton Rouge the previous day, she'd been dying to run it past someone. The _someone _was meant to be Mark, but watching Alex tip his lunch tray on the floor and stonewall Izzie just then, she knew she was going to have to bury the hatchet at some point if this was ever going to work.

'That's… wow. It's a pretty big idea.'

'So was the Denny Duquette Memorial Clinic, but you and Bailey managed that. This is the same principle really. And I've already done some research, I've got an idea of the sort of thing we'd be trying to create.'

'I promise I'm not trying to kill the idea, but there's something you've forgotten. I don't have a cheque for eight million dollars pinned to my refrigerator this time. If I did, it would be all yours, but I don't. Where is the money going to come from?'

'I've thought about it, and, well, I'm rich. My family are rich, and they know a lot of rich people. I reckon I may be able to get private donations for half the amount, if the Board will agree to match fund it.'

'They'll never agree to that.'

'They might. It's worth a shot, isn't it? The PM&R facilities here aren't great, and it might be an opportunity to move the hospital up the ratings a little more if we could offer additional facilities.'

'I don't know Callie.'

'Don't you want to try?'

'Of course. Of course I do. What do you want me to do?'

--- --- --- --- ---

The following day, an emergency meeting of the Seattle Grace Hospital Board was convened. In addition to the Board members and Department Chiefs, Callie and Izzie were also in attendance. They both looked exhausted, having been up all night hashing out some sort of a plan, but they looked impressively professional in sharp, black suits and high heels.

Once the formalities of opening the meeting were over, they were asked to present their idea for a specialised Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation department. Callie began by outlining what she believed necessary to set up the department, including personnel, an overview of equipment required and the possibility of converting some of the space on the conference floor into a small outpatient unit. In patients could be given a bed elsewhere until enough funds could be raised to build a specific ward. Before anyone had a chance to think up too many awkward questions, Izzie then jumped in to detail how she and Bailey had set up the free clinic, illustrating the ability for an ambitious project to be achieved in a short amount of time, before Callie finished up by stating that she had already raised enough funding to cover the salaries of an attending, resident and physical therapist for the first year, as well as enough equipment to support half a dozen outpatients.

The outcome was never really in doubt. They had signed letters of support from every attending in the hospital, and promises of particular assistance from ortho and psych. The two conference rooms that they had earmarked for conversion were rarely used – they wouldn't be missed. Plus the Board were a bunch of old dinosaurs that were more than amenable to the subtle flattery and flirtation that Callie and Izzie carefully used.

After an hour and a half, they had the green light.

Everyone was waiting for them in the cafeteria.

'Well?' Meredith asked.

'We've got it. We've done it,' Izzie beamed, looking happier than she had done since the accident.

The room erupted into cheering. A surge of people were patting them on the backs and congratulating them, but Mark drew Callie to one side. 'Do you know what you're doing?'

'What do you mean?'

'No way did you raise that much money in twenty four hours. I didn't know you were that rich.'

'It's not all my money,' she confessed quietly. 'My father donated some, and a couple of his business partners who owed him favours. I'll stick a brass plaque on a wall somewhere with their names on it.'

'Bullshit. Who else?'

'Oh, come on Mark, use your imagination. Who's rich and willing to give anything to help Alex?'

Mark looked thoughtful for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. 'Oh, that's the way the land lies, is it? You found her then?'

'I finally managed to get hold of her. She's back in California, and in a real state, but there's nothing I can do about that right now. I tried to persuade her to come back here, but she refused, she was too upset. So for the moment, I'm using her money to help Alex until she's strong enough to come and help him herself.'

'And Izzie?'

'Just don't tell her the money's from Addison.'

Mark grinned, and bumped her affectionately on the arm. 'Deal. I love a bit of intrigue.'

She rolled her eyes. 'I'm going to call this Ray Barnett guy, strike while the iron's hot and all that. I've got the Board's approval to offer him a post as a resident, but with the authority to set up the department, within budget, as he wishes.'

'How come, if he's only a resident?'

'I read an amazing paper by him, it's obvious he really knows what he's talking about, and I've spoken to a couple of people in the field. Apparently he's a real up and coming specialist. He works at a clinic down in Louisiana.'

Ray Barnett was unavailable when Callie first tried him, but when she was on the ward after grand rounds later on, Cristina, who was hanging around the nurses' station, called her over.

'Callie, phone.'

'Who is it?'

'A Ray Barnett.'

'Excellent, thanks.' She took the phone. 'Hi, Callie Torres. Is that Ray Barnett?'

'Um, yeah.' He sounded slightly confused or taken aback by something, but she pressed on.

'Great, thanks so much for getting back to me. I've read your paper, and thought it was brilliant. You see, I've got a patient, well, not just a patient, he's a friend of mine, and…' Suddenly, a vision of Alex swam before her eyes, an angry red road rash across the side of his face and a horrible, abrupt end to his body under the too white bedsheets. Her voice faltered and she was grateful when Ray jumped in.

'I'm assuming there's a degree of similarity between your friend and the case that was examined in the paper?' he asked.

'Yes. And, well, I know you're only a resident, but you seemed to really know what you were talking about. The way you wrote, it was clear that you just completely understood exactly what was going through your patient's mind and what treatments did and didn't help.'

'Well, I kind of had inside knowledge on that one.'

'What do you mean?' she asked, confused.

'Patient X was me.'

'What?' she choked back. She couldn't believe, in the half dozen old college buddies and professors who had recommended Ray Barnett, no-one had thought to mention that he was an amputee. Not that it mattered, she supposed, except she had no idea how to extract her gigantic foot from her even more gigantic mouth.

'A study of depression in young male amputees,' he quoted the title of the paper. 'Double below-knee amputation, a year ago. So really, it wasn't as insightful as you think. Though it's very nice of you to say.'

'I had no idea.' Luckily, he didn't sound offended. In fact, he had a bit of a southern drawl and sounded kind of sexy, actually. Which of course was a totally inappropriate thought right now.

'No way you could have. Anyway, back to your patient. Is there anything specific you wanted to ask me about? I'd be more than happy to help in any way I can.'

'Yes, there is something I wanted to ask,' she said, trying to sound more professional than she thought she may have done for the last few minutes. 'The patient I have is a friend, he's a doctor at this hospital. We don't have a very sophisticated P M and R programme here at Seattle Grace and right now, we desperately need one. I read your paper while I was doing some research for this case and put your name forward to the hospital's Board immediately. We'd like to offer you a job here, heading up a specialised P M and R unit. I'm an ortho attending and the idea is sort of my baby so I'll be overseeing, but essentially it's your own department, to do as you want.'

There was a moment of silence in which her stomach started to knot itself with nerves.

'Pardon?' he said abruptly.

'A job. Please. We need your help. _He _needs your help.'

The pause was agonizing, and Callie found herself crossing her fingers. Cristina, who was still standing next to her, was looking at her expectantly.

'Yes. I'll help, I mean, I'll accept the job.'

She gave the thumbs up sign to everyone watching. 'You will?' she asked.

'Yes.'

As soon as she put the phone down, Izzie stepped forward. 'Well?'

Callie smiled. 'He accepted the offer. We're going to have a PM&R department.'

_Here's hoping all the days ahead  
__Won't be as bitter as the ones behind you  
__Be an optimist instead  
__And somehow happiness will find you  
__Forget what happened yesterday  
__I know that better things are on the way_


End file.
